2024-09-30: Wake Me Up When September Ends
- Cutscene: Wake Me Up When September Ends
- Cast: Sheryl Nome, Grace O'Connor, Brera Sterne (minor)
- Where: Macross Frontier Fleet
- Date: September 30, UC 0099
- Summary: Sheryl learns some harsh truths.
"That's the last of them," Grace says, nodding and smiling to the movers carrying out Sheryl's many bouquets and gifts from her hospital room as she taps on a tablet--wholly unnecessary for her, but pretending like she still has human limitations makes the people around her more comfortable. She looks back at Sheryl herself on the hospital bed. "I know there's no talking you out of something once you've set your mind on it, but are you really sure you want to check out? It would be a lot more convenient for your physical therapy if you kept doing it here where the doctors can keep an eye on you."
"Absolutely sure," Sheryl replies, adjusting her blue beret. At last, she's in an actual outfit--one of her favorite casual outfits, a rich blue dress and white blouse with pink throat ribbon, white gloves, and fawn brown boots--rather than the hospital gown she's had to put up with for the past couple of months. "I can do physical therapy at home and on the go! The doctors here have been consummate professionals, and no offense to them, but I don't want to stay here a single second longer than I have to."
Grace sighs, but keeps smiling all the same. "All right, if you really insist..."
"I do insist! Besides, I need to get back to my career. My fans are waiting for me!" Sheryl stands--wobbles a little--but remains upright. She plants her fists on her hips and gives Grace a triumphant smile. "See? I can stand on my own two feet just fine! Now let's get going!"
They both turn from the now-empty hospital VIP suite to the door, but a knock arrests them both. When bid enter, a nurse enters the room, pushing one of the state-of-the-art all-in-one diagnostic carts that Sheryl understands they just recently got. They're for VIPs like her--people who might want an extra bit of privacy for their bloodwork. It would've been nice for her early on in her stay when she was still wrapped up in medicated bandages like a mummy and the nurses were still poking her at all hours with needles. By the time the hospital rolled this out, she didn't need daily injections and bloodwork anymore, thank God. (Always under Grace's supervision, of course. As busy as she must be still also managing Ranka, Grace always made a point to be here for those. Sheryl's grateful for that. She'd found herself doubting her lately, and it's good to know she does still care.)
"Miss Sheryl! I'm glad I didn't miss you," the nurse says, lighting up with a smile when she sees her.
"Sorry, who are you?" Sheryl asks. She knows the nurses pretty well by now, and she knows she's never seen this one before. Mid-twenties-ish, short, a reasonably pretty face.
"Oh, please excuse me! I'm a new hire--I just started today." The nurse dips into a low bow. "I'm on this floor checking up on our VIPs, seeing if they need anything..."
"Hmmm..." Sheryl's lips creep up into a smile. "And you just couldn't help wanting to come see little old me?"
Grace isn't nearly so amused, if her troubled frown is any indication. "I'm sorry, but Sheryl is just now leaving. All she needs right now is an escort, and I assure you I, as her manager, have that handled."
The nurse gives Sheryl an abashed but rosy grin back. It shifts into a just-abashed grimace as Grace chides her. "Right, of course. I'm terribly sorry for the intrusion." She glances back at Sheryl, and the bright yet pained look in the nurse's eyes makes her hold up a gloved hand.
"Wait a sec. I'm about to check out, so that probably means the hospital wants to send someone to do a final check on me, right? Vitamin shot, medication refill, and all that?"
"Well, it's not necessarily standard practice, though it does happen for those who were admitted with serious injuries like you were... Just to be on the safe side."
"And that kit you're carting around--that's one of those brand-new all-in-one diagnostic sets, right?"
"Yes, that's right...?"
"You know how to use it?"
The nurse straightens her shoulders. "Of course! I just recently finished a course specifically to train in its use, and I was the top of the class!"
Sheryl unfurls her left arm, baring the inside crook of her elbow. "Then let's save a bunch of time and have you do it right here and now!"
The nurse and Grace both gasp, albeit with very different tones.
"Sheryl, are you serious? You hate shots!" Grace utters.
"I do hate shots." Sheryl winks at the nurse. "So if I'm going to get one anyway, it may as well be from a cute fan of mine!"
The nurse squeals and nearly jumps, but quickly clears her throat, smooths out her scrubs, and stands up straight. "Of course, Miss Sheryl. Right away," she says soberly. The sparkle in her eyes gives her away, though.
As she wheels over and starts unfurling the kit, Grace watches them both with her arms folded, tablet handing from one hand. Her eyes are narrowed, and there's a certain darkness there that draws Sheryl's attention. She doesn't totally blame her--it's her job to worry about her--but it does seem oddly serious of her. Still, while Sheryl might have invited this, that doesn't mean she enjoys is. She looks away and stares at the wall while the nurse does her work.
"I don't actually have to give you a shot or take any of your blood, you know," the nurse says as she goes. "But let me ask, how are you feeling now, Miss Sheryl? Any lingering ailments or troubles?"
"Nope! Well, I have some weakness in my legs and arm still, but a few more weeks of exercise and physical therapy, and that won't be anything anymore."
"That's great! So other than that, you're fine?"
"Fine as wine! Aside from my chronic cough."
The nurse paused to blink at her. "Chronic cough?"
"Sheryl..." Grace murmurs, an odd note of warning in her voice.
Sheryl waves a dismissive hand at them both. "I've had it looked at before, including while I've been here! The doctors have all said it's nothing."
"But... it hasn't gone away?" the nurse asks.
"No," she admits.
"And you've had fits even while hospitalized here?"
"Yes, but that's nothing special."
"How long has this been going on?"
"A while," she hedges. When pressed, she admits, "Around a couple years now."
The nurse's eyebrows pinch together. "That doesn't sound right... A chronic cough could be a sign of a more serious underlying condition."
She laughs. It's gratifying to hear her say so, but still-- "If you think you can find what over a dozen doctors haven't, you're welcome to try!" She sobers. "Honestly, I hope you do. I really hate when I break out into a fit. I keep hearing that it's nothing, but it sure doesn't feel like nothing. It'd be nice to figure out a way to get rid of it for good."
"I'll try scanning for something that might be causing that, then!"
Grace clucks her tongue then. "Oh well. I suppose it's about that time anyway." She smiles at her. "Sheryl, I'll go on ahead and take care of the last of the discharge paperwork. Let's meet up in the parking basement, all right?"
"That works! À tout à l'heure~," she lilts--see you later--as she waves goodbye.
As she leaves, Sheryl looks back at the nurse, who's now setting stethoscope-esque bobbles on her chest, presumably to scan her lungs. "So, you said you're a new hire? Do you have any exciting gossip about the outside world?"
The nurse laughs at the joke. (Mostly a joke.) "Do I ever! Exciting isn't the same as fun or even happy, though. I'm sure you'll see it on the news when you leave, anyway. Breathe in deeply for me, please?"
Sheryl cooperates. In--out. In--out. In-- "Are you talking about something in particular?" --out. "Just out of curiosity."
"Well... Yes, but I don't want to upset you..."
She frowns. "It's not more ridiculous rumors about me and the Vajra, is it?"
"No, no, not about you! But yes about the Vajra... specifically, the V-Type Infection."
--out. "Oh?"
"Yes, it's been spreading. Hmmm, your lungs sound normal... No obstructions or wheeziness as far as I can tell." The nurse gestures at the monitor, where Sheryl can see this for herself, more or less. "Maybe it's something to do with your throat."
"God, I hope not!"
"Me too! I don't know what I'd do if you had to retire as a singer!" the nurse says fervently.
"That won't happen as long as I have anything to say about it! But you were saying?"
"Oh, yes! It's not a public health emergency or anything, but it has been showing up outside of the quarantine zone in Lagos... It isn't even especially contagious, which is worrying. It's a hot topic in the medical community right now. One of the things I learned in training was how to identify it. Treatment options are extremely limited right now, and there isn't a cure, so it's considered extremely important to be able to ID it."
Sheryl thinks about her chronic cough. But the symptoms that were reported about that V-Type infection didn't match her own. She shakes her head. "Well, hopefully it doesn't show up here."
"I agree completely." She looks over her tools, pensive. "So--we could scan your throat, but it might not be that helpful. If you've been having regular coughing fits for a couple years now, any damage to your throat might be an effect rather than the cause. Maybe it's even just a side effect of your singing career. That could be why the doctors can't find anything--it's just wear and tear. And you put your throat through its paces a lot harder than most!"
Sheryl sighs. She's heard that one before too. It's why she took to drinking tea with honey, among other throat-soothing activities. "Maybe."
"...But there's no harm in trying anyway," the nurse adds.
But sure enough, it's inconclusive. There is damage to her throat, even months after her last concert, but Sheryl knew about that already. The nurse, however, stares at the scans with a squint.
"There's something... weird about these marks," she says slowly. "Something doesn't seem right... Miss Sheryl, would you mind if I did a throat swab?"
Sheryl makes a face. Still, she nods. "I'll have you know I hardly ever do this kind of fan service!" she jokingly declares.
The nurse giggles as she collects the correct tools from the kit. "Say 'aaah,' please!"
"Aaahn~"
This time she blushes as she laughs, leaning in with the swab. She's trying to be gentle and cautious--Sheryl can tell--but her shoulders convulse. The nurse snatches the swab back just in time to not choke Sheryl as she breaks out into a coughing fit. Hastily, she grabs a thick, napkin-like cloth and gives it to her, and Sheryl takes it and coughs into it for an uncomfortably long, wet time.
When it finally settles down, the nurse is apologizing profusely. Sheryl can barely hear it. She pulls the cloth away, and it is spotted liberally with red.
"That's... that's a very bad sign," the nurse says, ashen. "B-but I can use that for the sample instead! Please, allow me!"
Sheryl lets her, reaching for an actual tissue and cleaning her face. She avoids saying anything. She's dizzy and nauseous, and that just now was bad enough. Fortunately, the nurse leaves her be to focus on an on-the-spot diagnosis, which will take at least a few minutes. Sheryl wants to lay her head back down, but she resists. An indeterminate amount of time later, her head starts to clear. The diagnostic kit beeps, and she looks up at the display screen. It's showing information Sheryl doesn't understand.
"So what's--" she starts to say, but stops.
If the nurse looked ashen before, she's ghostly pale now.
"Um. U-um," the nurse utters. "Th-this is--um--" She stares over at Sheryl, eyes wide with fear. "Miss Sheryl... that V-Type infection... it really took off after the Vajra attacked your Lagos concert--right?"
"Right...?"
"This is... um... this-- I could be mistaken, but this-- I think it's V-Type."
Sheryl stares back at her. She stands up from the bed, and the nurse hastily retreats a couple of steps, dragging the kit with her. Sheryl's stomach lurches at her fan's reaction.
That's right. That fear in her eyes--it isn't for her. It's of her, now.
"I-it can't be, though, I must be mistaken," the nurse babbles. "You've been in here a couple months now, I know that, and there haven't been any other incidents of V-Type here! I'll take this down to the lab and we'll take another, closer look and get you the results as soon as possible. All right? You just stay here and we'll be right back!"
Sheryl nods once, numb. She watches the nurse flee the room. She waits just long enough to make sure she's fully gone. She doesn't wait any longer than that.
Grace has been there for every one of her blood draws. She's been monitoring Sheryl's health for years, ever since she discovered her when she was six. If there was anything this drastically wrong with her, she'd know about it.
Oh well. I suppose it's about that time anyway.
She knew about it, and she didn't tell her.
Her boots clack on the tiled floor as she breaks into a sprint down the hall, around a few corners, to a certain elevator. She jams the 'down' button, and when she's inside, she jams the button for the parking garage.
Let's meet up in the parking basement, all right?
An interminable amount of time later, the elevator dings and rolls its doors open. Sheryl hurls herself out into the garage, sprawled with cars, and races out in between them. "Grace! Grace!!" she shouts, voice echoing back at her.
"What's the matter, Sheryl?"
Sheryl stumbles to a stop and turns around. There, standing next to a black limo, is Grace. She's smiling at her, arms folded under her chest, but there's something about that smile that makes Sheryl's skin prickle with goosebumps.
"Grace, there's something wrong with me. I'm seriously sick. You knew that, didn't you?" she demands.
Grace sighs a 'you-got-me' kind of sigh and shrugs, still smiling. "I did."
"Why did you keep it from me?! When did this even happen?! The Vajra might've attacked my concert, but I shouldn't have gotten close enough to them at any point to get some kind of disease from them!!"
"That's true. The strain of V-Type infection you've got doesn't spread that easily--it's only transmitted by blood. It's got different symptoms compared to the strain that's going around right now, too. I suppose as the Vajra modified to adapt to fighting humanity, the fold bacteria in their guts modified too. Not that that helps you any."
She's so blasé about it that Sheryl reels. This is the woman who raised her like a second mother. Who's always supported her, guided her, and taken care of her. The one who cultivated her talent and made it explode on the galactic level.
"There's medication to keep the strain of V-Type you've got in check, but that only goes so far... especially once it's progressed past a certain point," Grace continues. She clucks her tongue and shakes her head. "You haven't been good about taking your Witchcraft lately, have you?"
It feels like her soul is evaporating out of her body. "I--I've been taking that for years. Since I was a little girl. Since--" Her entire body feels like it's crushing in on itself. "Since you took me in."
"Correct. More specifically, since I took you to that hospital to get that medical scan. You remember that, don't you?"
Sheryl does remember that. It was an ugly experience, one that cemented her dislike of hospitals, medicine, needles, and doctors. But Grace had told her she had to do it to get better, and she did get better afterwards. Had that, too, just been part of one big lie?
"Of all the test subjects I injected with V-Type, your voice resonated the best with the fold bacteria introduced to your body. Because of that, you got to survive." Grace's tone remains even and conversational, as if they were chatting about scheduling her next concert. "Unfortunately, in the end, it still wasn't good enough. Only your mementos from Dr. Nome made you even close to passing, and even with them you still can't control the Vajra with your song--not like Ranka can. With her under my management and you no longer useful to me, I was planning on disposing of you sooner or later, but I thought I'd at least let you die in ignorance so you wouldn't have to suffer. However, even I can't control every little variable. Oh well."
Sheryl's knees shake, threatening to give out underneath her. It's so tempting to let it happen. But as much as Grace has rocked her galaxy, Sheryl keeps herself upright. "So then I was just--a tool to you this entire time. An experiment. Is that it?" Sheryl presses a hand to her chest. As hard as her heart is hammering within it, she keeps her voice as level as Grace's. Ignore that little quaver. "Is that all I've ever been to you?"
Grace's smile doesn't fade. But the shade of it does lighten as her eyebrows rise, as her eyes and cheeks soften. "You and Alto were so cute together, you know. And you wanted revenge on the Vajra almost as much as I do." She reaches for the limo door a couple feet to her right and opens it without bending. Inside, all the bouquets and gifts Sheryl had received during her hospital stay are lined up prettily to form a throne on the seats. Sheryl stares at them and the stretched black car itself. Right now, it looks to her less like a limousine and more like a hearse.
Only now does Grace's smile fade, leaving behind by a grave sobriety. "Sheryl. You're going to die. But I meant what I said; you don't have to suffer," she murmurs. "Come home with me. You can live in comfort until your end. You've performed brilliantly for me up 'til now, so that's the least I can do for you, my Fairy-9."
Sheryl stares at the limousine. It's only now that she notices the chauffeur up front. He's dressed in a smart uniform with a matching hat, but there's no mistaking Brera's stoic deadpan as he watches her from the driver's seat.
The sense of betrayal that had been sharpening within her now pierces through her numb shock and clean in her heart. She almost falls, and she steps back to catch herself. A step, a step--until she turns away and sprints for the exit as fast as she can run.
Grace watches her go without attempting to follow. Inside the limo, Brera drops his gaze to the wheel in its hands. It's in his hands, but it won't move. Not until Grace permits it.
Soon enough, she enters the limo herself, folding her legs and taking up the throne that would have been Sheryl's. "To the apartment, Brera," she commands. "Sheryl will end up there sooner or later."
Brera engages the engine and starts to drive. "And if she doesn't?"
Grace pauses, focusing on him in a way she hasn't before now. "Do you feel sorry for her?" she wonders--and there is wonder in her voice.
Brera says nothing.
"Hmm... That girl always has been a willful one. Maybe she won't come home on her own," she reflects. "Maybe a friend needs to convince her."
He still says nothing. But it does strike him that this time, it's a roundabout suggestion rather than a command.
Maybe she feels sorry too.
But privately, he doubts it.
And privately, Grace takes on other criticism through her neural implants. The various voices of the Galaxy Network want to know:
Why let her leave, Colonel Godunwa?
Especially after sharing so much sensitive information.
She may be a failure, but she still has influence in society. Left unchecked, she could interfere with our plans.
Didn't I tell you before? The Fairy-9 I raised thrives in despair, Grace replies within the vast network of screens that now overtakes her perception of reality. If anything would make her break through, it's this. And if not, she's going to die soon anyway. So don't worry; everything will go the way we desire.
One of the voices titters. Do you even know what you desire?
Of course I do.
Well, if you say so. We'll be looking forward to your results...
They recede, but they don't drop. Grace never truly disconnects from her network, even when her vision shifts to physical reality. It settles down to her side, at a nurse-themed teddy bear one of Sheryl's friends had given her. An old, torn photo of two familiar women rests in its arms, as Sheryl had set it before the movers had taken it away. Grace picks it up and, light reflecting off her glasses, looks over the people there; her thumb brushes to one side where a third woman had been roughly sheared away.
She crumples it in her palm without mercy and hurls it aside. Brera might pick it up later while unloading the limo, but Grace doesn't care. She's already worked herself to the fiber-optic bone to get this far; nothing's going to stop her now. She's never been disconnected from her desires even once, and once she's grasped them, no one else will ever be able to disconnect either.